


give me all your pain (and love will set you free)

by LMoriarty



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Episode: s02e05 Weaponizer, Episode: s02e06 Monster, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Russian Translation Available, Season/Series 02, Suicidal Thoughts, well actually, whether or not it actually happened is kinda the point of the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMoriarty/pseuds/LMoriarty
Summary: Lucifer was many things — most notably sex on legs and the best lay you'd ever have, though an argument could be made that being the Devil and a civilian consultant for the LAPD were more important — and the vast majority of them were public knowledge. Except for a couple.Except for one.An eternity and a day ago, he was a father, too.(or: five people Lucifer tells about his daughter and one person who repays the favor.)





	1. chloe & trixie decker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't have a daughter," Chloe said.
> 
> Lucifer barely avoided the flinch. "No, I don't," he said, because... he didn't. Not anymore. Not in a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd prefer to read this ~~story~~ chapter in russian, a translation is available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6809088/17386145), thanks to karolina_okey!

Lucifer was many things — most notably sex on legs and the best lay you'd ever have, though an argument could be made that being the Devil and a civilian consultant for the LAPD were more important — and the vast majority of them were public knowledge. Except for a couple.

Except for one.

An eternity and a day ago, he was a father, too.

Technically Lucifer still was — he created the stars, formed each one with his own metaphorical hands, used heavenly fire and feathers and his own divinity — but.

But.

It's not quite the same.

There's a difference between stars and something that squirmed in your arms, cried out when it's upset or needing something or just plain happy. There's a difference between stars and  _children_. 

Stars, and  _his_ child.

Angels were born fully formed, implemented with some basic knowledge that their Father had handpicked. They had to learn the rest over time, mainly on their own, but the instinct to  _listen_ was there from the get-go. The instinct to  _obey_. Angels didn't have free will; didn't before Lucifer, didn't after. He was the exception, not the rule, and he had to fight like hell to get it. (Coincidentally, that fight landed him in Hell. Funny, how things work out).

But Ariel wasn't created by God. She wasn't an angel, not quite. Didn't have that same instinct, and most definitely wasn't born fully formed.

She had been so  _tiny_.

Even when she wasn't, when she was older and bigger and taller, she was still so fucking  _small_.

Until she wasn't.

There was... an incident, of some sort. Lucifer wasn't sure of the specifics, because he hadn't been there, but. He knew what the end result was, and that was Ariel, his little girl, dead. Dead, as in deceased, as in  _gone_. It was hard to kill an angel but she  _wasn't an angel_ , so then she was  _gone_ , and—

He had tried to grieve. Tried to mourn, and move on, and get through it. Except Father needed his services, needed him to punish people. Kill people. Samael was the angel of death, once upon a time.

But Lucifer had just lost his  _child_.

So he fought. Fought the instinct to obey, fought his siblings, fought  _Him_. And Lucifer won.

He  _won_.

But he lost, too. Lost Ariel, his family. His friends. His  _home_. Lost everything worth having, and then lost himself, too. Got thrown out of Heaven by his own brother, who was supposed to  _get it_. Yes, he rebelled, but Michael had  _adored_ Ariel. He should've understood, but he didn't, he  _didn't_ , and so Lucifer fell and he burned and he fashioned himself a new name, became the monster his Father clearly wanted him to be. And it was worth it. It was  _worth it_.

Up until the moment it wasn't.

Hell may have given him the space to mourn, but it didn't give him the  _ability_ — Lucifer was still unable to think about her death for longer than three seconds, could barely admit even to himself that he had  _had_ a daughter in the first place.

Millennia in Hell, specifically for the purpose of mourning his loss, and Lucifer still couldn't do it.

Eventually, he left Hell, too. Got bored, he'd claim, except the truth was simply that there wasn't any point in staying. He'd rebelled and gotten tossed down there to grieve, and he couldn't do it, so why remain? Why keep trying to do what he clearly was unable to do?

So Lucifer left.

He planned to travel Earth, but ultimately just traveled Los Angeles. It was only a little bit ironic— him in the so-called City of Angels. It was nothing like Heaven, but Lucifer found himself loving it regardless, or perhaps specifically because it  _was_ so different. It was nothing like Heaven  _or_ Hell, it was new, it was refreshing, it was—

Perhaps somewhere he could actually mourn.

Before Chloe Decker, "mourning" looked a lot like too much drinking and copious amounts of sex, but it distracted Lucifer, which was rather the point. After Chloe....

After Chloe was different.

There was still the drinking, and there was definitely still the sex, but. He felt like he had purpose, again. Punishing evil. It wasn't quite as distracting as never-ending orgasms, but Lucifer felt like maybe he was actually making some  _progress_.

Like maybe he was moving on.

And the Detective herself was attractive and smart and funny and somehow irresistible to his charms— she was a puzzle and Lucifer loved puzzles, but more than that, Lucifer thought that he might be willing to fall in love with her. To open himself up to extraordinary levels of hurt on the off chance she could ever feel the same way.

It was unfortunate, though, the fact that she had a child. 'Unfortunate' as in it  _hurt_ ; it hurt to listen to the Detective talk about her daughter, to be near the child, when he could never be near his own daughter again, when he couldn't bear to even think about Ariel let alone talk about her. Besides, Trixie? Was totally a hooker's name. He refused to let that one go, because seriously?  _Seriously_?

It's like the Detective  _wanted_ her to become a sex worker when she grew up. Lucifer supposed it wasn't a  _bad_ profession, per se — the money was great, truly — but still.

Beatrice. Trixie.

(Ariel.)

And the worst part was that Lucifer couldn't even complain about the spawn, because that meant talking about his own daughter, which he clearly didn't want to do. So he just had to suffer through her presence, time and again, which  _apparently_ made the Detective decide she could  _trust him_ with Trixie?

So, now he was stuck on babysitting duty.

With a child he couldn't stand to so much as look at.

Fantastic.

"Can we watch a movie?" asked Trixie, sprawled out on the couch. She was fiddling with the remote, though not with any particular purpose. "With ice cream?"

Lucifer looked up from his phone, which he had just sent a 'SEND HELP' text on. "Would the Detective let you eat ice cream?" he questioned. Chloe had given him a bedtime, too, which he had promptly forgotten. Had it passed yet? He wasn't entirely sure.

Trixie thought about it for a moment. "...Yes?"

"That sounded like a no to me," said Lucifer, because it did. She pouted. "But she never specifically told me not to let you, so. Where's the ice cream?"

She beamed, launching herself off the couch to go run and grab some. Trixie reappeared moments later, a bucket and two spoons clenched in her tiny hands. She handed him one of the spoons, then plopped back down on the sofa, opening the carton.

Lucifer glanced down at the utensil. "Why," he said, "do I have a spoon?"

"I said  _we_ , silly," Trixie reminded him, patting the spot next to her. He heaved out a sigh, before slumping down beside the spawn. To be fair, it was a very comfortable piece of furniture. "You can pick the movie," she said, nudging the remote over with a toothy grin.

Lucifer picked it up, and flicked through a couple channels. He landed on The Little Mermaid, and made a move to immediately keep scrolling, before sighing and glancing over at Trixie. "The Little Mermaid?" he asked, hoping for a no.

Her smile brightened. "The Little Mermaid!"

Lucifer stabbed his spoon into the ice cream, aggressively scooping out a mouthful. Of all the movies he  _hated_ , this one was the worst. The plot hit just a little too close to home— a girl named Ariel who wanted to see the world? He knew who that reminded him of.

Even if he tried to put that out of his mind, Lucifer could draw other similarities. Ariel wasn't human but wanted desperately to understand them, and ended up falling in love with an attractive prince. Wasn't that what Lucifer had done, with Chloe? Amenadiel would be Sebastian, probably, since his Father had sent him to watch over Lucifer, which made God an excellent King Triton. Flounder was very much like a mix of Gabriel and Michael, if he chose to ignore the way they both turned their backs on him after Ariel had—

He supposed the real question was, who was Ursula? If Lucifer was honest, he'd admit it was Uriel, but this wasn't something he wanted to be honest about. 

They watched the movie in relative silence. Relative, since Trixie sang along to all the songs, but otherwise neither of them spoke. The movie came to a close all too quickly, or perhaps not quickly enough. Regardless of any comparisons he had drawn to himself, all Lucifer could think of was Ariel, his lovely little daughter, who never got a chance to actually _live_ or _love_  or do any of the things that fictional Ariel got to do, and that _hurt_.

No longer content with quietly eating ice cream, the spawn turned to him, spoon in hand, and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," he said. Trixie frowned at him, so Lucifer sighed, waving his hand. "Go for it."

Lucifer wasn't entirely sure what he expected her to ask. Something ridiculous, probably, like why he didn't enjoy The Little Mermaid, or where her mother was. The spawn  _knew_  the Detective was on a stakeout, and it was highly unlikely she somehow managed to forget that fact, so why bother asking? Lucifer  _hated_  dumb questions, and he was surely going to receive one.

Except, this is what came out of her mouth:

"Why don't you like me?"

He stilled, placing his spoon down. "Pardon?" Lucifer said, hoping he misheard.

Trixie repeated herself.

And Lucifer — who was so caught up in his own misery that he actually convinced a child he  _didn't like her_  — thought his heart broke a little more with each word.

"I don't—" Lucifer broke off, swallowing hard. "I don't dislike you. I... apologize for making you think I did. I don't particularly like children, but that doesn't mean I don't—" He frowned. "If you were in danger, spawn, I would destroy the world to get you home safely."

"But that's for  _mom_ ," Trixie insisted. "Cause you like her. Not for me."

"I suppose it would be, in a way, for the Detective," Lucifer admitted. "But not in the way you're thinking. I do care for her, deeply, but... no, if something happened to you, I imagine I would be appropriately devastated."

Her face scrunched up. "But you call me  _spawn_."

"Affectionately," he said. "I  _affectionately_ call you spawn. I was under the impression that that was clear. I thought— well, I suppose I was wrong. I do care about you, spa—" Lucifer grimaced. " _Trixie_." He glanced away. "But that aside, I'll confess it... hurts to be around you, sometimes."

Trixie pushed the ice cream carton away, sitting up. "Why?" she asked, eyes wide. "Did I do something?"

"No," Lucifer promised, shaking his head. "No. I did. A long time ago, I did." He sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair. "I... was doing something for my Father. I don't remember what, anymore, but at the time He claimed it was important. When I returned, I discovered that someone I cared about had died."

"A child," guessed Trixie.

Lucifer faltered. " _My_ ," he said, softly. "My child. She was my—"

The front door swung open, and Lucifer immediately shut his mouth. Had he really been about to willingly talk about Ariel, to a  _nine_   _year_ _old_ no less? What had gotten into him? Lucifer hadn't even mentioned her to his  _therapist_ , and wasn't that the entire point of having a therapist? Telling them stuff?

"Detective," he greeted, standing. "I imagine the stakeout went well."

"We caught him redhanded," confirmed Chloe, looking exhausted but pleased. Triumph suited her, he decided. She spotted Trixie, then glanced down at her phone to check the time. "Lucifer. It's past her bedtime. I told you that she needed to go to sleep at—"

"We watched The Little Mermaid, mommy!" Trixie announced, racing over. She jumped upwards, and the Detective grabbed her, swinging her up into her arms.

"Did you, baby?" asked Chloe, annoyance gone as soon as her focus was on Trixie. Lucifer wondered if that had been on purpose.

She started carrying Trixie to her room, and the spawn let her, probably tired herself. It was, after all, apparently past her bedtime. As they reached Trixie's room, Lucifer could just barely overhear her say, "You shouldn't be mad at him, mom. I remind him of his daughter, I think. Not his fault."

Lucifer couldn't hear Chloe's response, though that may have been more because of his suddenly racing heart than his hearing itself not being good enough. The spawn had just announced he had a daughter. She had just—

No.

No, no, no, Lucifer didn't need this right now, he didn't need this  _ever_. Chloe was a  _detective_ , she would ask questions and pry and bug him about it, and Lucifer didn't, wouldn't,  _couldn't_ talk about it.

He  _couldn't_.

But maybe she wouldn't ask, so Lucifer stayed where he was, and waited for her to return.

She did, all too soon. His mind was still on stars, and children, and stars who are children, and children who are stars, and  _Ariel_ , always Ariel. Chloe stopped in front of him, arms crossed, and he waited patiently for whatever she planned to say.

"You don't have a daughter," Chloe said.

Lucifer barely avoided the flinch. "No, I don't," he said, because... he didn't. Not anymore. Not in a very, very long time.

She stilled, as if spotting the nonexistent movement. He supposed Chloe was a  _detective_ for a reason. "Lucifer," she said, gently, "you know you can tell me, right?"

"I don't have a daughter," said Lucifer.

Chloe examined him. "...Anymore?"

Lucifer swallowed. He had never wanted to have this conversation, not really, no matter how much he claimed to wanted to grieve. Grieving meant moving on, meant  _forgetting_ , and Lucifer didn't want to forget, not even a single detail. "Anymore," he confirmed, not quite audible. He raised his voice so she could hear him, "I don't have a daughter anymore."

"Lucifer," she murmured, softly. Lucifer supposed she was probably thinking about Trixie, about losing her. About how devastated she would be. About how much that would  _change_ her, because it clearly changed Lucifer.

She was probably thinking she finally had him figured out.

"Don't," said Lucifer. "Don't pity me. It was a long time ago."

"A long time ago—" Chloe cut herself off, startled. "You lost your  _daughter_."

He looked away, shifting uncomfortably. "An eternity and a day ago," Lucifer offered. "I've had plenty of time to move on."

"Move on?" she echoed, incredulous. "You can't ever  _move on_ , Lucifer. That's not what— that's  _willful blindness_ , not mourning. When you lose a child, it's like losing yourself. You can't get  _over_ that, you just need to get  _through_ it."

Lucifer stilled. "My Father had me kicked out because I wanted to mourn instead of doing my duties," he confessed, uncharacteristically open. "But I found that I... couldn't mourn. Couldn't forget about her, or get over the loss." Lucifer stepped closer to Chloe, intently, "You're telling me I was never  _supposed_ to?"

"No," she said. "You were never supposed to try to  _forget_. That's not how mourning works." Chloe hesitated. "I'm sorry about your dad. And your daughter— no one should ever have to experience that. If you ever want to talk about it... I'm always willing to listen."

Lucifer was quiet, for a moment. He hadn't actually talked about it — her — before, not ever. But... this was Chloe. Their relationship was, at points, rocky, but she had just entrusted him with her child, so shouldn't he be willing to entrust her with his?

He sighed.

"Her name was Ariel, like... in the movie," Lucifer confessed, "It means protection. Lion of God." He retreated back to the sofa, sitting down where he had before. Chloe sat next to him, where Trixie had been seated. Him, and Decker girls. It seemed fitting.

It seemed like home.

"How old was she?" Chloe asked, cautiously, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

"Roughly a hundred years old," he said. Blink-and-you-miss-it disbelief flashed across her face, and Lucifer sighed. Now was not the time to fight that particular battle. "Sixteen, I suppose, by your standards. She was so... small. Even when she was older, she was ridiculously tiny. I mean, I'm tall, clearly, but she was just so—" Lucifer sighed. "Short. I think she would've grown, though, if she'd had the chance. Probably end up as tall as me."

Chloe tried for a smile, though it was clearly weighed down by the revelation. "She sounds lovely."

He smiled, just a little. "Ariel was the absolute kindest person I have ever met," he confirmed. "On anyone else it'd be  _revolting_ , but she wore it so well. And she could get so angry— righteously, I mean, that sort of passionate anger, legitimately  _kind_ anger. Before she," Lucifer stilled, shaking his head. "Right before, she got into a fight with dear old Dad. Talking about free will, how we deserved to have it, too. He could never control her, but He could control  _us_. It's sorta His whole thing, and she hated Him for it."

"And then she died," Chloe said, more to herself than to him, "and he told you to get over it and do your job."

Lucifer looked at her. "That sounded like an accusation, Detective."

"No!" she said, quickly. "No, I didn't mean— I didn't mean to imply that your father had anything to do with her— with what happened. I was just... thinking, sorry. She was his grandchild—"

"He hated her," Lucifer admitted. "But most of the others did, too. Because she wasn't like them, because she was  _better_. Uriel hated her the most, and he never even tried to hide it. He's the one who told me and he looked so fucking—" Lucifer sighed. "Michael and Gabriel loved her almost as much as I did. But Michael's still the one who tossed me out. He didn't even say sorry, he just— walked away."

Chloe's eyebrows were furrowed, trying to puzzle things out, figure out what happened. It was almost amusing, since she had no clue how Ariel had even died.

Almost.

"But," said Lucifer, "they were family, for better or for worse. None of them would've hurt her, would've even  _contemplated_ hurting her, because I was... me. I would've destroyed them all, and they knew that. Dad would have let me, too, because I was His favorite... and because He knew I would do it even if He said not to, with or without free will." Lucifer shrugged, not quite as carefree as he'd been aiming for. "What happened was... awful, but as much I hate my family — and I definitely do — I know it wasn't murder. It was just an accident. It was just—"

Chloe seemed to spot the turmoil, or perhaps just the quiver to his mouth. She shuffled closer, wrapping her arms around him. Lucifer felt like, in any other situation, he'd be making a joke, but not now. Not here.

He clung to her, and thought of stars and his child and her child and them, Chloe and Lucifer, Lucifer and Chloe.

He clung to her, and thought:  _kindness looks lovely on you, too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my initial idea for this story was for ariel to like.... show up at the precinct and have luci go "wtf ur dead???" but that didn't happen clearly
> 
> in 1.06 trixie turned eight so i'm just guessing that she'd likely be nine just under a season later but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> for those who care, this chapter is 3.1k


	2. dan espinoza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think my family killed my daughter," Lucifer said, only half aware that he was speaking out loud, to another person, and not at all aware that that person was _Detective Douche_. "Or faked her death. Or something. I don't think it was an accident."
> 
> There was silence. 
> 
> "Sorry, did you just say you have a _daughter_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. it's been a year. 350 days, technically, but, u know. same thing. it took so long mainly bc i rly was gonna leave this story as-is, but i guess your comments convinced me to write more ;)

Lucifer didn't regret telling Chloe.

That was important. It meant something; that he trusted her, yes, but it _also_  meant that maybe, possibly, talking about Ariel was good for him. Maybe it was healing, to discuss her, maybe this was what mourning was _supposed_  to have been.

But perhaps Lucifer didn't _want_  to heal.

It had been so long since he last saw Ariel. Lucifer still remembered everything about her, of course: how wide her smile was, how bright her eyes gleamed, how _intelligent_ she was, how pretty and noble and, ultimately, how _kind_ she was. How loud she would scream at God, but also how loud she would scream at _him_ , too. How her face would light up whenever she saw the rain, how her hair would spin, almost float, as she danced.

He remembered _everything_. But the memories meant very little, when the girl being remembered was dead.

And if he moved on, even if moving on no longer meant _forgetting_ , even if it meant exactly what it was supposed to— Lucifer didn't want to. His daughter was dead. The memories, in time, might fade.

The pain was the only thing he had left.

And if talking about her might change that, then he didn't want to talk about her.

Even before her death, he had been fiercely protective of Ariel. Part of it was because there was nothing else like her, because he _created_  her, because she was _of_  him. Mostly it was because he loved her, and every time he looked at her he still saw the little girl she used to be.

After... what happened, the urge to protect her only grew stronger. Even if all he could do was stop people from talking about her, even if it only amounted to preserving her memory, he had to do it. She was his _kid_.

She was his _everything_.

He remembered, once, how Michael had tried to offer his condolences (before he threw him into Hell, of course, the fucking _bastard_ ), and Lucifer just...

Lost it.

That was, in truth, likely the moment when the Rebellion began. (Perhaps it was also the moment when the Rebellion was lost.

Even if Lucifer was God's favorite, Michael was everyone else's. He was polite and respectful, and had a name that meant 'who is like God'. And Samael, well. They all knew what _his_ name meant. He was the  _venom_ _of_ _God._

Of course nobody sided with him.)

None of his other siblings tried to talk to him, or about her, after that. At the time, it had made him pleased, but. If he refused to let anyone else talk about her, he couldn't either. It wasn't about fairness, because there was nothing _fair_ about him losing his daughter. It was about... 

Integrity. Dignity. 

Love.

In the end, that was the real crux of the matter. He loved her, and he wanted to remember her for what she was, not for the pain that followed.

No matter how much good it may do, she had to be off limits. She _had_ to be, because she was... _everything_ ; all of his deep rooted issues, the ones that _weren't_  because of his Father, were because of her. Because she _died_ , and he wasn't there, and he still — _still_  — didn't know what actually happened. 

Because nobody would tell him.

And Uriel, who had hated Ariel the most, had been so _smug_ about the whole thing, like there was something he knew that would've changed everything, the course of the entire Rebellion. Sometimes Uriel would look at him from across the room, and he would smirk, like he was thinking of a _funny_ _joke_ , or a _cool pattern_. Like Lucifer's daughter hadn't just _died_. Like he hadn't been the one to tell him.

Because, perhaps, she hadn—

No. No, no, no, Lucifer couldn't do that, he couldn't go there. Because if he was wrong, and he _would_ be, then Lucifer didn't think he'd be able to recover.

But Chloe had been so suspicious, like she thought maybe Father had been involved, like it wasn't just an accident. And Chloe was The Detective, capital letters. She was _good_  at her job: most of her theories were right, or at least _partially_  right, and if she thought it wasn't an accident...

That meant it wasn't as outlandish as Lucifer had originally thought.

That meant there was a chance, a _real_  one, that his family had been involved, somehow, in his daughter's death.

It made sense, as much as it didn't. Lucifer was still sure that his Father would've been against it, would've stopped them. He knew how Lucifer would react, and as much as Lucifer hated Him, he couldn't actually picture Him giving the okay. But if they did it before God even realized, if all He had done was help with the cover-up— that was possible. That was _plausible_ , even.

And if it turned out to be true, well. This was also true: angels couldn't kill humans, but they _could_ kill other angels. It was frowned upon, but then again, so was everything Lucifer did, and he knew he wouldn't regret it. If they hurt Ariel— if they killed her—

Or if she _wasn't_ _dead_? If she was just somewhere else, somewhere on Earth, struggling to survive? Missing her father?

Lucifer tried not to think about that option. The theory had crept up on him without him noticing, until it was all he could think about. He kept  _picturing_ it, even though he didn't want to, even though it was the _last_  thing he wanted: them grabbing her, Uriel laughing, tossing her to Earth. It would, if nothing else, explain the way Uriel started acting afterward.

He  _knew_ he shouldn't keep thinking about it, wondering about this particular what-if. When he was proven wrong, he'd break, he'd _die_. It would kill him, to realize that she really was dead, if he let himself get convinced otherwise. He knew that, but he still...

He still kept thinking about it.

"That coffee isn't going to drink itself," Dan joked, dragging him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the detective gesturing towards the cup Lucifer had been staring at.

"I think my family killed my daughter," Lucifer said, only half aware that he was speaking out loud, to another person, and not at all aware that that person was _Detective_ _Douche_. "Or faked her death. Or something. I don't think it was an accident."

There was silence.

"Sorry, did you just say you have a _daughter_?"

"Technically, I said had," Lucifer stood up. He looked at Dan, not quite sure what to do now. "I didn't mean to say anything. I shouldn't have. I'm all for melodrama, but that's taking it a bit too far, isn't it." He shook his head, words coming out stilted. "I'm going to head to Lux. If Chloe needs me, please inform her I'm taking the day off." 

When he went to leave, Dan grabbed his arm, stopping him. Lucifer looked down at his hand, then back to Dan, eyebrows raised. "I think maybe you need to explain first," he suggested, finally letting go. Lucifer straightened out his sleeve; the suit was _expensive_ , not that he expected Dan to understand that. "If not to me, then at least to Chloe. Because that's— you know. Something that should... be talked about. I mean, you always seemed to really hate kids— which totally isn't the point. But. You should talk to... a friend." 

Lucifer wanted to say no, deny it. Wanted to lash out at him, actually, but mainly he just wanted to leave and get drunk and try, for a short while, to forget. Instead, he asked, "Are we friends, Detective Douche?" because right now, in this moment, his answer _mattered_.

Dan rolled his eyes at the nickname, though he made a visible effort not to, which Lucifer could appreciate. "I don't know, Lucifer," he said, which was unexpectedly honest of him. "We don't hate each other anymore, or at least I don't think we do. I'd like to be friends. That's really— up to you, I guess. But. I'm here, you know? To talk to, if you want. Cause I do care." 

He could understand where Dan was coming from, sort of. He had Trixie, after all, but he had never thought — had never _known_ — that his daughter was dead. Dan would never be able to comprehend the agony, not unless something happened to Trixie, and Lucifer would do everything in his power to ensure that nothing did.

Moreover, Ariel was off limits, Lucifer reminded himself. Talking about her was forbidden. Banned by him, true, but banned nonetheless. If he was going to break that promise for anyone, it should probably be Linda, which was... surprisingly self-aware of him.

But, he supposed, Dan was also a cop. A good cop, he could begrudgingly admit, apart from that whole Pallmeto fiasco. His opinion could be valuable. 

"Okay," he conceded. "Okay. Let's talk."

They sequestered themselves away in an empty interrogation room, which Lucifer briefly thought of protesting. He understood the logic behind it — the conference rooms were all full and the middle of the bullpen probably wasn't the best place to talk about this, any of it; the fact that he had a daughter, the fact that he didn't anymore, the fact that he was questioning the how and who of her death — but it still seemed...

Cold, he supposed. Uncaring.

Lucifer looked across the table at Dan, and Dan looked back at him. Neither spoke. Right when Lucifer was starting to think this was a waste of time, Dan sighed. "I don't really know how to start this," he confessed. "I guess with the obvious: you have — sorry, uh, had — a daughter?"

"Yes," said Lucifer. He was quiet for a second, two, then realized that he was supposed to keep talking. He was already regretting this, but Lucifer refused to be a quitter. "Her name was Ariel. When she was sixteen, by human standards, she died. Or at least that's what I was told. I wasn't there," he said, somewhat flippantly, like none of it _mattered_. It made it hurt less. "They — my family — said it was an accident. But I recently let it slip to Chloe that Ariel existed, and something she said made me think that, perhaps, it wasn't actually an accident. That maybe it had been murder. Or maybe a kidnapping. I'm currently unclear on what theory is most likely, however I'm sure it's _something_." 

Dan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He repeated the action a few times, before finally saying, "Okay. Okay. I uh, I get that you have... suspicions. But. Do you think, perhaps, you should talk about _Ariel_ instead?"

Lucifer stood up, straightening out his suit as he did. "No," he said, and he tried very hard not to think of it as a lie. "Thank you for listening, barely, but I have things to do, yada yada." His tone was dismissive, even though his heart was racing in his chest. Talking about his family was one thing, but talking about _Ariel_ , the girl, and not the deceased, was... too much.

"Lucifer—"

He glared. "My answer is no. I don't _want_ _to_."

"Okay, then would you rather tell Chloe?" Dan asked. "Because I don't think you would. I think that— means something. When you tell her. But with me, it doesn't mean shit, cause I'm... you know. Me." Dan pointed at the chair. "Sit down and tell me about her. Not her death, or your theories. Tell me about _Ariel_."

Lucifer remained standing for a second, two, just to be difficult— and then he sat, though he didn't particularly want to. Dan was right. Telling Chloe was different than telling him, because Dan _didn't_ _matter_ , and Chloe... did. Because he cared for her. Because _kindness_ _looked_ _lovely_ _on_ _her_. Because, even though she didn't believe he was The Devil, she seemed to believe _in_ _him_.

Because she entrusted him _with_ _her_ _daughter_ , let him babysit, and _nothing_  meant more to him that that. Lucifer was sure that, if Ariel was still alive, Chloe would be the only person he'd let look after her. It _meant_ _something_.  

Children meant _everything_.

"I don't know what to say," Lucifer admitted. "Where to start."

"What did she look like? Or... what did she like to do?" prompted Dan, who looked just as clueless. His ineptitude made Lucifer feel better about his own— not, of course, that Lucifer had ever been inept in his life.

He thought back a millennium, then another, then four more, to when Ariel still lived, breathed, walked around with a bright smile and a beautiful laugh. "She looked like me. Brown hair, brown eyes; vaguely hazel, maybe. Pale. Her hair was longer than mine, of course." Lucifer stumbled over the details like an elderly grandmother with Alzheimer's would, if asked to describe her granddaughter. In truth, Lucifer remembered every detail perfectly. It just— hurt, still. To remember, but also to say out loud, when he hadn't ever done it before.

He tapped the desk, uncomfortable but trying to hide it. "She, uh. She was short. Really tiny, but she could've grown. She was— look, Douche, _Dan_ , she was a lot of things. Can you just... ask questions, or—"

Dan racked his brain. It looked like it hurt. "Okay, uh, Trixie really loves cake. Chocolate. Double fudge, especially. What about Ariel? What was her favorite food?"

The thing about angels is that they didn't actually have to eat. If they were on Earth, they tended to, because it's what people did, and because food tasted good, but it wasn't a _requirement_. Their vessels didn't need that sort of nourishment, no matter how much they might look human.

What an angel needed to survive were not the same things that a human needed.

But Ariel wasn't an angel.

She wasn't created by God. She was created by _Lucifer_. And, somewhere in the process, it was determined that she would need food to survive, though a lot less regularly than humans.

Lucifer used to take annual trips down to Earth to feed her, because Heaven's attempts to make food were... pitiful. Nothing they made was _bad_ , per se, but none of it was necessarily _good_  either. As she got older, it became more clear what she did and didn't like, most notable being—

"Baked Alaska was her favorite dessert," said Lucifer. "I don't know what it was about it that she liked, but she did. She'd always want it, when we went out. Her favorite food, though, was pasta. Penne, tomato marinara sauce. She loved to try new things, but that's what she always fell back on, even though it's very... plain."

Ariel had always been adventurous, though at the end of the day she would return to what was comfortable— she would return to _Lucifer_. He had loved that about her, when she still lived. Sometimes he would wonder what she was doing and worry, but she always, always, always came back to him.

Until she didn't.

Until she couldn't.

"Was she your only child?" asked Dan. "You sleep with a— I mean. Not that it's any of my business. But, you know, it's not _unreasonable_  to think you might have—"

"I created the stars," Lucifer said. "In a way, I birthed them. They are— mine, they are _of_  me, in very much the same way she is. But." He frowned down at the table. "No. Ariel was the only thing that was... sentient, _personified_ , in any sort of meaningful way." He looked up to see Dan looking baffled, and Lucifer sighed. "Ariel was my only _child_ , yes."

"You said she looked like you," said Dan. "What about her mother, though?"

"She didn't have a mother. I created her with my energy, with my mind, with my hopes and desires and love, not with another individual," explained Lucifer. "I was still an angel, back then. It was easy."

This was true. When it was done, when she was alive and breathing and staring up at him from his arms, this little stunning creature he had just made, yes. It was easy.

This was also true: the pain had been excruciating, agonizing, _indescribable_. Nothing he had ever experienced since could compare, not his Fall, not cutting off his wings. Nothing could compare, except the moment in which he learned about her death, when his entire world crashed down around him. His soul still twinged when he thought of it, of the way that he had to die, just a little, to create her.

"Oh, for—" Dan sighed through his teeth, looking very much like he was trying to stop something nasty from coming out. If Lucifer had to guess, he'd say that Dan was probably thinking about how awful it was, how awful _he_ was, for him to keep up the charade even when talking about his dead child. If he said it, Lucifer would understand. 

He would never forgive him, but he _would_ understand.

"Okay, I'll, uh," Dan frowned. "Avoid mentioning her mother, then, I guess. Uh— okay. What did she like to do? For fun?"

Lucifer could picture it, could _remember_ it. Her spinning, hair flying, dress twirling, with classical music playing in the distance. Her arguing with people a great deal more powerful than her, never losing her cool, never dropping her smile. Her hugging Michael and Gabriel and even Uriel, even those that despised her, whenever she felt so inclined.

Her hugs were, for a time, the best part of Lucifer's days. Out of everything, that was what he missed the most. Her arms wrapped around him, his chin resting on top of her head, listening to each other's hearts beat.

Nothing could ever top the feeling of just... being.

But this—

This was personal. This was something that he didn't want to share. This was something that he _couldn't_  share. Maybe he could to Chloe, but to Dan, to someone who wasn't really a friend, wasn't really much of anything...

This entire thing was a mistake.

Lucifer stared up at the ceiling, tried not to picture what Ariel's dead body must have looked like. "Can we talk about something else?" he asked, quietly.

Dan hesitated. "Like what?"

"Her death. My family. Something that hurts less."

"Okay," he said, slowly. "Okay. But. They're your _family_ , Lucifer. I know some people are messed up, we see proof of that all the time, but can you really picture them doing something like that?"

"My family hated her," Lucifer said, because it was the truth, "especially my Father, though his involvement is... less likely. My brother Uriel, on the other hand? He's always been sadistic. I wouldn't put it past him."

Dan took a second to process that. 

"Do you have any idea _why_  he might've wanted to... uh," Dan grimaced, "dispose of her, I guess? Not that I'm saying he did. Or that any of your family members did. But. If you're really trying to figure it out, motive would be a good place to start."

"Nobody could control her, and she made it harder for them to control _me_ ," he offered. It was the only thing he could come up with, the only thing that made _sense_. "Getting rid of her to regain control wouldn't be... far-fetched."

"But what— I mean—" Dan stopped, thought of what he wanted to say, then started again. "Even if they hate her, even if they really did want her dead. What actually made you think, you know, that they did it? What _proof_  do you have?"

"Nobody told me how she died," said Lucifer, easily, because this wasn't the part that ached to remember. It hurt, absolutely, but it was an angry sort of hurt. "What happened, _why_  it happened. When I returned home, Uriel made a joke about her death — I don't remember what — but I realized what that must mean, and... that was the end of it. Even the siblings who loved her, Michael and Gabriel, they didn't give me any details. I thought, for some time, that they just wanted to spare me the grief. But— after her death, Uriel gained a lot of confidence. Pride. He walked with a certain amount of... swagger. And Gabriel would always look revolted, like he was on the verge of puking, whenever he saw it. Saw _him_." Lucifer looked at Dan, and saw the same expression on his face. " _Something_  happened. And they were all in on it."

"Are every single one of your siblings named after an angel?" Dan asked, though judging from the look on his face, he hadn't meant to.

Lucifer didn't care, staring at him pointedly until his face flushed red.

"Right," said Dan, coughing. "Sorry."

He fell silent, clearly thinking something over. His brow was furrowed, mouth pressed into a hard line. "Okay. Okay, I don't—" Dan stopped, struggling for words. He waited a second, then tried again. "You came here because you wanted to know what I thought, right? So I'm gonna— I just gotta— it might sound harsh. But I think you might need that. So, here's my take-away: you need to talk to your therapist about this."

"Right," said Lucifer. He stood up. "So, you're still useless. Good to know. Thank you for _completely_  wasting my time—"

"Lucifer," Dan interrupted. "I'm serious. This can't be good for you. Turning it over in your head, wondering if they were involved, knowing you'll probably never get an answer—" he shook his head. "It's not healthy. You _need_  to talk to your therapist."

Distantly, Lucifer knew he had a point, but he knew what Linda would tell him: that she was dead, that he needed to let it go, that he should try to properly grieve.

Nothing about that sounded appealing.

Nothing about that seemed like what he _needed_.

"Thank you for listening," said Lucifer, because he could acknowledge that it helped. "But, no. I have no intention of talking to Linda about Ariel."

He had no intention of doing much of anything, actually. Before talking to Dan, he was planning to go to Lux and get plastered. Now, though— now, all he wanted was to head out onto his balcony, and just... stare up at the stars, take them in. They were the only children he had left.

When Lucifer left, he did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's dan's reaction! next will be... mazikeen, maybe? who tf knows, not me
> 
> i'm gonna have to warn you though: i have absolutely no clue when (or if lol) another chapter will get posted. i'd recommend subscribing to ensure you're alerted.
> 
> for those who care, this chapter is 3.7k


	3. mazikeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ariel," he said, "is the reason I became what I am." The Devil. A monster. A killer.
> 
> A grieving father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "wow, lanie!" you say. "another chapter? it hasn't been a year!" 
> 
> this has actually been done for like, a week, maybe? i was gonna wait until the next chapter was done to post it but then i saw @NathTE's lovely comment and was like. actually. no, that person deserves a chapter immediately
> 
> side note: please pay attention to the new "suicidal thoughts" tag.

Uriel was dead. 

Dead, as in gone. Dead, like Ariel. Dead: a word which here means deceased.

Dead, because Lucifer killed him.

Perhaps that term was too kind, too generous for what actually happened. 'Dead' implied a certain degree of passiveness, like it was an accident, like he passed away in his sleep. That wasn't true. Uriel didn't _die_  so much as he was erased, eradicated, exterminated, _eviscerated_. His essence, his _soul_ , just— poof. That was what Azrael's blade did. That was what _Lucifer_ did.

That was what Lucifer _wanted_.

There was no reason to feel bad about what took place, about what he did. Uriel was a killer, tried to kill _him_  and Maze and _Chloe_ , was planning on killing their Mother, maybe even killed Ariel. Lucifer _had_ _no_ _choice_ , but he still felt—

Miserable. Regretful.

Just a little bit devastated.

If it was Amenadiel, that would make sense. If it was Gabriel, or _Michael_ , even, that would _make_ _sense_. But it was Uriel, it was _Urinal_ , and Lucifer had nothing to feel guilty over. He killed him, yes, and maybe in a different universe he'd feel bad about that, but in _this_  universe...

He was upset for one reason, and one reason only: Uriel's death meant he'd never get answers. Lucifer never got a chance to bring up Ariel, never got to question him about what happened to her, about what he did or did not do to her. If Uriel killed her, or helped kill her, or _something_ —

He'd never know.

Without Uriel, finding out the truth seemed impossible. Every time Lucifer thought about her death, tried to plot out what happened, it all came back— to him. Everything, every thought and theory, led back to Uriel, like one of his patterns, like the way the stars ( _Lucifer's_  stars) connected to tell stories, create characters.

Uriel was the key.

And Lucifer killed him.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. About how _easy_ it was, to slide the blade into Uriel's heart, to catch him as he fell, to watch him die. He hadn't _felt_ anything, and maybe that was just because of the adrenaline, maybe it didn't mean anything, but—

Lucifer had to wonder. When Michael threw him from Heaven, had he thought the same thing? When Lucifer was screaming and burning and _dying_ , when he was being torn apart, was Michael thinking about how _effortless_ it had been? How simple it all was?

Should Lucifer have driven the blade into his own chest, rather than Uriel's?

He breathed in, out, tried to regulate his heartbeat. This was— too much, wasn't it, to be thinking of— he buried the blade for a reason— and yet Lucifer's mind kept going back to it, how easy it would be to kill _himself_ as well— and maybe that's what he wanted, what he had always wanted, to die like Ariel did— he wished— he _wished_ —

He wished Ariel was still alive, he wished Uriel was still alive, he wished Michael had stood by his side like Lucifer had _expected_  him to, he wished he had never rebelled in the first place, he wished his Father had just given him time to mourn, he wished they had just _killed_ him.

When they killed Ariel — _if_ they killed Ariel — why couldn't they have just killed him _too_?

What gave him the right to survive?

And who got to _make_ that choice, because God was omniscient and all-seeing, he was the Creator, but he was the creator of _this_ universe, not necessarily _all_ universes. Who decided Lucifer's fate: God, or whoever created _him_? Who decided _Ariel's_ fate?

There was no such thing as a coincidence. There was no such thing as luck. Uriel's obsession with pattens proved that: one little movement, one little ripple, and _then_ —

Whoever killed Ariel but let Lucifer survive made a _mistake_. Lucifer would find them, would find _everyone_ involved, and he would— he would—

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Crying," said Lucifer. "What does it look like?"

Maze pushed herself up so she could sit on top of the piano, leather pants sliding against the dark wood. "I can see that." She threw a blade into the air, watched it twirl, then caught it at the last moment. Maze pointed the tip of it at him. "How about _why_?"

"I killed Uriel."

She rolled her eyes, putting the weapon away. "I know. I was there," said Maze. "He tried to kill you. He tried to kill me. He was going to kill Chloe and your mother. So you stabbed him. So what?"

Maybe that was part of why Lucifer felt like— this. Maybe it wasn't just because of Ariel, because of the lack of answers, the lack of _hope_.

Whenever Lucifer pictured himself killing Uriel, it didn't... happen like that. It wasn't rushed or frantic, it wasn't to save anyone,it wasn't after nearly dying himself. It was pointed and planned and Lucifer would say, "Did you really expect to get away with it?" or "You're the pattern guy. Did you see this coming?" or maybe just "You killed my daughter. Prepare to die."

 _Instead_...

"That's not why I did it," Lucifer told her. He stopped, reconsidered. "Hm. It was, actually, wasn't it? He was going to kill you, Mazie, I could never just _stand_ _there_. Sit there? I was on the floor, initially, just like I am... now." He looked down at his legs, as if they betrayed him. Perhaps they had? He couldn't tell.

"So why _did_ you do it, then?" asked Maze. She didn't look like she particularly _cared_ , but he knew her well. He knew she did, if only because she cared about _him_.

Lucifer drained what was left in his glass, then placed it down next to him. He leaned back, stared up at the ceiling. He knew he needed to tell her, after all this time, but. The words seemed heavy in his throat, even heavier on his tongue.

It was different with Chloe. It was different with Dan. There wasn't an eternity of history between them, even if there were other things. Love and hate, respectively, if Lucifer felt inclined to label it, which he didn't.

"Get to the point," she suggested, leaning forward. "I'm too sober for you to keep dragging this out, My King. Unless you want to pause for drinks?"

The label startled a laugh out of him. "I haven't heard that one in a while, My Demon," he said. Lucifer sat back up, looked at her. This was going to hurt, more than it had with anyone else, but he thought it might just be worth it. "I killed Uriel because I think he killed Ariel."

He saw the confusion on her face, the way her eyebrows scrunched together. He knew what was coming but he also knew, deep in his bones, that he wasn't ready to hear it.

"I don't know who that is."

It felt a little like Falling.

It felt a little like dying.

Lucifer smiled, a tiny little hateful thing blossoming from his lips. "I know," he said, because that was the _point_ , wasn't it? He was sent to Hell to grieve. Lucifer still believed that, even if everything else was...

He was sent to Hell to grieve, and the person that had stood at his side from _day_ _one_ , his most trusted demon, his _friend_ — didn't even know who Ariel was.

That, if nothing else, proved how hard he had tried.

Only in his mind would Lucifer let himself admit that he _hadn't_. Some of that had to do with him conflating acceptance with forgetting, true. He had been honest, painfully so, with Chloe. But this was also true: when he Fell from Heaven, all he could feel was agony. No matter how nice their intentions may have been, the Fall had robbed him of things that he would _never_ be able to get back.

There had been a part of Lucifer that refused to mourn because that was what they had sent him to do, and he hadn't wanted them to _win_.

"Ariel," he said, "is the reason I became what I am." The Devil. A monster. A killer.

A grieving father.

Maze leant back, eyebrows raised. For all that she tried to appear relaxed, at ease, Lucifer could see the tenseness in her shoulders, her forearms; could see how her fingers twitched, wanting a knife, knowing she shouldn't reach for one. "A bitter ex?" she asked, careless with her words, though Lucifer could see the downward tilt of her mouth.

He could read her just as easily as she could read him. They would never end up together romantically, would never even try. Both Lucifer and Maze loved too strongly, hated too fiercely. They needed someone that would make them rest, not someone who would keep their fires burning. He needed someone _kind_ , and she needed someone patient. They would never work together, and they knew it. Both of them knew how it would end.

But both of them _also_ knew how incredible it would be, before it did. To know someone as well, as _deeply_ , as they knew each other— for just a moment, they would be _glorious_.

"My daughter," Lucifer corrected.

And then the moment would be over, and they would be left with this.

Maze snarled, angry, hurt. She was off the piano in an instant, knives in hand— the demonic blades, even, which could actually harm him. Standing over him, face as hard as rocks, Lucifer truly thought she might. 

He knew she would react like this, knew how to calm her down now that she had, but he had to admit: he was _tired_. Wouldn't it be easier to just _let_ _her_ —

"Maze, please," he said. In one fluid motion, Lucifer stood. Despite the knife she was clutching like a lifeline, despite the murderous glint in her eyes, he came closer. "In a surprising turn of events, I actually understand where you're coming from with this. Who knew I could do that? Linda will be shocked. But _Mazikeen_ ," he placed a hand to her cheek, tilted her face up so he could see her properly, "I'm telling you _now_."

"I thought I was your _friend_ ," she said. "I thought—"

"You are," he assured her. "You are my friend, Mazie. I never meant to hide this, least of all from you. I just... didn't want to deal with it. Her death. My _daughter's_ —" Lucifer pried the knives away, placing them on top of his piano. Neither of them paid any attention to the way his fingers shook. "But things happen. Plans change. The spawn," he stopped, sighed. " _Trixie_ ," because that was something he needed to work on, "found out, told Chloe. Dan knows, though I certainly didn't mean to tell him."

Maze looked at him, long and hard, like she was trying to figure out what to do, how to react. "I've known you for a very long time, longer than most of the people you know," she reminded him. "I have been your servant, your torturer. Your friend. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I just did," he said, and it was the truth.

She frowned. "Because of Uriel," said Maze. "Not because you wanted to."

"It's not about want. I didn't _want_ to tell anyone, ever. I'd have stayed silent for the rest of eternity, if I could've. Because it... hurts, still," Lucifer sighed. "I can't tell you what you want to hear because I don't know what the answer is."

For some reason, the answer made her relax, just a fraction. "Okay," she said. "So you think Uriel killed her. Did he?"

"No clue," said Lucifer. "I killed him."

Mazikeen leaned down, picked up his glass. Without a word, she walked to the bar and refilled it, then grabbed another and filled that one too.

"You're mad," he guessed.

"No." She passed one to him, keeping the other for herself. "If you think your family was involved, then they were. If you think Uriel killed her, then he did," said Maze.

"Simple as that?"

"You had a daughter and she died," she said. "I don't understand. I will never understand what that was like. Am I offended you didn't tell me? Perhaps. But you're you. I'm me. And I will always have your back." Maze tapped their glasses together. "Drink. Keep drinking. When it stops hurting, talk."

Lucifer thought of Chloe, who said _I'm always willing to listen_ , and Dan, who said _Tell me about her_. Both of them meant Ariel.

But _Maze_ —

She meant Uriel.

So Lucifer drank: he drained the liquid already in his glass, then refilled it and did it again, and again, and again. He drank until the back of his eyelids no longer looked like Uriel's dead body, until his hands were shaky from something other than agony, until it _stopped_ _hurting_.

He was good at following orders. Even if Lucifer (no, no, it was Samael, there was a difference) was the venom of God, the poison of God, the blindness of God— he had also been the angel of death, once upon a time. He had been the most important of them all. He had been the _favorite_ _son_.

If he rebelled, not just to mourn but also for free will, then it stood to reason that, once, Samael had been the most mindless of them all. When God said jump... well. Samael didn't bother with _how_ _high_. He just jumped.

Lucifer turned to Maze. "My family hated her, in part because they were losing control of me through her. I wasn't present when it happened but when I returned, Uriel told me that she was dead, and he did so via a joke. Nobody was willing to tell me _how_  she died, even when I asked. Afterwards, Uriel waltzed around like he was... hot shit. Like he _mattered_ , even though he didn't. Gabriel was disgusted by him, but everyone else seemed neutral," he listed off the facts, because that's what they were. The only facts he had. The only thing  _concrete_. "Dig in."

"Was it a good joke?"

Had Dan said that, Lucifer imagined he'd have killed him. Had _Chloe_ , he'd have never spoken to her again. But _Maze_ — perhaps if they were in Hell, he'd have tortured her for it, but here? Here, he would let it slide. His drunken state only partially affected that decision.

"As if Uriel has said a single funny thing in his _life_ ," Lucifer shot back, though in truth, he couldn't actually remember what Uriel had said.

Maze took the hint and moved on. "Nobody told you how she died. What did they tell you?"

"That she was dead," said Lucifer. "That they were sorry for my loss. That they couldn't have prevented it even if they—" he stopped. Wait a second.

Wait a—

She smiled at him, and he knew that smile, _recognized_  it. It was the smile she used when she was at her best. It was her wicked smile, her _I know something you don't_  smile. The curve of her lips made her a _queen_. It had been something she carefully cultivated over time, and its presence now could only mean good things. "Even if they...?"

"Tried," he said. "They couldn't have prevented it even if they _tried_."

Her smile widened. "Meaning?"

"That they didn't."

With shaking hands, he poured himself another glass, and drank it in one, two, three mouthfuls. Lucifer knew that didn't _mean_  anything, necessarily, it certainly didn't _prove_ anything, but— "It would've been easy to kill her. She wasn't like us, it wouldn't take Azrael's blade. It would've taken... seconds. To kill her, then to dispose of—" he frowned. "Of her—"

"Body," finished Maze. She leaned forward. "Here's a question for you: what makes you so sure they killed her?"

"Really, Maze? I already told you," he said, rolling his eyes. "Please pay attention to me when I talk."

"I understand they're all assholes, and they had their motives, and whatever. That's not what I'm asking, Lucifer," she said, tone pointed. The realization crashed over him and he opened his mouth to stop her, but— "What makes you so sure they _killed_ her?"

Lucifer didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about it. Not this theory, not ever. If she wasn't dead— or if she was, and he got convinced she wasn't—

"She has to be dead," said Lucifer. "Maze. She _has to be dead_."

If he was wrong and his daughter was still alive after all this time, all these years, and he _didn't_ _know_? If they had tossed her to Earth like they tossed him to Hell? If she had aged like a human and _died_ like a human, centuries ago? If she suffered, even a little bit, if she felt even an ounce of pain, if she— if she was still alive _right_ _now_ —

Even the _thought_ —

It made Lucifer want to go into the forest, to where he _buried_ _his_ _brother_ , and dig up the blade, Azrael's blade, and stab himself— it made him want to go find Chloe and shoot himself in front of her, while he was vulnerable— _fuck_ , it made Lucifer want to _die_.

He lost his _child_ , how many marriages had that ruined on Earth, how many people died over it? Why couldn't Lucifer be one? He had refused to grieve and it had destroyed him, a little, but now that he _was_ , he just—

He just wished he _wasn't_.

"Those sanctimonious bastards you call family," Maze insisted. "You think they're capable of killing a _child_? Their niece? Cause I think they could, I think it would've been easy, but someone would have told you. _Michael_ — he's the moral one, right? Hell, _Amenadiel_. Bird boy is the worst of them all. And they didn't, so you have to think about it, you have to consider that _maybe_ —"

"No I don't," he said. What had Lucifer been thinking, before Dan showed up? Something about how it would kill him. If he got convinced and it turned out to be wrong—

But what if he was right?

What if—

"This was a mistake," said Lucifer, mouth on autopilot, brain _racing_. He needed to distract himself. He needed to— "I have to go."

"Fuck you," said Maze. "I'm _helping_  you. I don't have to be."

He looked at her, but he didn't see _Maze_. He saw Uriel, dead. Ariel, dead. (She had to be dead). He saw all of his fears and failures and knew, deep in his soul, what he would see if he went to Hell. All those people reliving their worst memories—

One of Lucifer's would be this.

The moment when he actually had _hope_.

He had told Dan that he had no intention of talking to Linda and he had _meant_ _it_. But now. Now, he thought if he didn't, he'd do something awful. He thought maybe he would actually—

"I have to go," repeated Lucifer. "I need to see Linda."

Maybe showing up drunk wasn't the best decision. But the _alternative_ was not showing up at all, and Lucifer knew that wasn't really an option. He needed help.

He needed—

A reason to stay alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's maze's reaction! hopefully you think she (and lucifer) are in character. if there's any points where you think they Really Are Not, lmk! same goes for typos, etc
> 
> this chapter is 3.2k!


	4. linda martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What you _need_ is to learn how to book an appointment," said Linda. "I'm really sorry, but— Lucifer, I'm _sleeping_." She had a point. He had tried to ignore the bedhead for the sake of niceties, but the long shirt and striped pants were a bit of a giveaway.
> 
> That being said— 
> 
> "It's about my daughter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls pay attention to the suicidal thoughts tag. it began in the last chap & it gets worse in this one. 
> 
> your mental health is more important than this story. stop reading if you need to.

Lucifer wasn't surprised that it came to this. In all fairness, he'd been expecting it.

The low point. Rock bottom. Whatever.

As soon as Trixie found out, he had known that he was going to spiral. Then Trixie told Chloe, and _he_  told Dan, and _Maze_ , and— it _hurt_. To keep talking about Ariel, to keep _thinking_  about her, to come up with all these theories about how maybe her death hadn't been an accident, or perhaps she hadn't actually _died_ , or—

The worst part was that he had actually started to believe them.

Or maybe the worst part was killing Uriel, because it meant he would never be able to get answers. Maybe the worst part was how carelessly he had to give out the facts, how _emotionlessly_ he had to do it, because if he didn't he'd break down. Maybe the worst part was that he actually believed his family might've done it, maybe the worst part was the _tsunami_ of emotions he was struggling to force down, maybe—

Maybe the worst part was that Lucifer wished, with everything he had, that he had died instead of Ariel.

Maybe the worst part was that Lucifer wanted to die, _regardless_  of what really happened to Ariel.

Lucifer had expected the spiral. He might have even expected the breakdown. But he had never, ever expected _that_. When she first died, or when he Fell — during the worst moments of his existence — he'd never considered suicide. He never thought: there is a way out. He never thought about taking it. But _now_ , thousands of years later—

Then again, he didn't have Azrael's blade or Chloe making him vulnerable back then. He wasn't _able_  to die. If it had been _possible_ , then _perhaps_...

Perhaps none of this would've happened.

Perhaps none of this _should've_ happened.

Lucifer never would've met Chloe, or even Maze. He never would've fallen in love, perhaps he wouldn't have even become Lucifer, but would it have been worth it? To die thinking it had just been a tragic accident, to die as _Samael_ , to never suspect his family? To never be tormented by the what ifs? To never have to struggle with his grief?

All the sorrow and death and misery that followed him around, that was seeped into his _bones_ —

Maybe death would have been a kindness.

But the past was the past, and there was no way to change that. No matter how much he wished there was, Lucifer couldn't go back in time and alter how things played out, couldn't kill himself to avoid the heartbreak, couldn't stop Ariel from dying. Couldn't, even, stop himself from creating Ariel, though he would never try. However.

However.

He _could_ change the present.

To kill himself the same way he killed Uriel seemed like _justice_ , but more than that, Lucifer found that he... wanted to die. Regardless of how unexpected the suicidal ideation was, now that he was thinking it, the option constantly bombarding his thoughts— it seemed like a good idea.

Moreover, it seemed like an  _easy_ idea.

Lucifer knew where he buried the blade. He knew exactly how many steps, how many turns, how many minutes it would take to retrieve it. He knew how easily the blade would puncture his skin and steal his life. And then, nothing.

Then, peace.

It was as Uriel had said, as he died: _the_ _peace_ _is_ _here_.

That scared Lucifer. It excited him too, yes, the idea made him happy, yes, he wanted to do it, _yes_ , but—

He didn't know how he had slipped so far. Lucifer wished he could say that his will to live had been chipped away, bit by bit over time, but that wasn't true. One day he had been _fine_ , and the next he just hadn't been. Maybe it was Chloe's fault, for putting the initial idea in his head. Maybe it was Dan's, for listening, regardless of how strongly he'd attempted to discourage him. Maybe it was Maze's, for doing the opposite. Or maybe it was his own fault, for refusing to mourn Ariel in the first place.

Maybe everything bad that had ever happened in his _life_ , maybe the Fall, maybe Ariel's death, _Uriel's_ death— maybe it was all his fault. Maybe it didn't just apply to _his_  life, but _everyone's_.

Maybe the humans were right.

 _The Devil made me do it_ , they said and sneered and _mocked him_ , mocked everything he'd been through. He had Fallen for free will and they claimed that he _took theirs from them_ , and he had always resented humans for that, but what if—

Perhaps God had set it up that way, so him gaining what he wanted took it from everyone else— perhaps he was the monster everyone seemed to think he was, the monster his true face _proved_  he was—

Chloe was a cop, and she made him vulnerable. By involving himself in her life he made himself a _target_ — one that was actually killable, thanks to her. Death might have always been the end goal, and he just hadn't figured it out yet.

To be or not to be? To die or not to die— that is the question.

Who was it, that claimed "The answer to that question is to be. Profoundly, to be. To be, to be, to be. That’s the point"? Lucifer thought maybe he was right.

To die, to die, to die. That's the point.

To _die_ —

But if Ariel was actually alive, and he never got to see her again because he chose to end his own life— but if she _wasn't_ , it would be like her dying all over again—

He couldn't decide, couldn't make up his mind, couldn't _think_  or _breathe_ , couldn't— couldn't—

Lucifer had to have _faith_ , but in _what_? In _whom_? It could never be God, could never be an angel, could never even be himself. What else was left? There was no reason to stay alive, except for the _chance_ , the tiny little chance that Ariel wasn't dead.

She probably was.

But if she wasn't, he couldn't just _end_ things. Not without knowing for sure. He had to have faith in _Ariel_ , and that, he could do. But what if—

The door opened.

"Linda," he said, politely. Lucifer hoped he didn't look how he felt, because he _felt_  just about ready to swan dive off of a rooftop. "I need your help."

She stared blankly at him, uncomprehending. Linda glanced down at her watch, then looked back up, even more confused. "It's three in the morning," she said. "You're at my _house_."

"Yes," said Lucifer. "I'm drunk, too, if you want to keep mentioning the obvious. I need your help."

"What you _need_ is to learn how to book an appointment," said Linda. "I'm really sorry, but— Lucifer, I'm _sleeping_." She had a point. He had tried to ignore the bedhead for the sake of niceties, but the long shirt and striped pants were a bit of a giveaway.

That being said—

"It's about my daughter."

Linda froze. She squinted at him, perhaps to gauge how serious he was, since she hadn't grabbed her glasses on the way to the door. She _had_ , however, grabbed a baseball bat, and Lucifer could appreciate her priorities.

"Shit," she said, quiet enough that Lucifer suspected he wasn't supposed to hear. Then, louder, Linda said, "Come on in."

The interior of her house reminded Lucifer of her office. Though there were no bricks in sight, it was tidy, and every object looked like it had been carefully bought and placed. There were lots of books, which he had expected, as well as potted plants, which he hadn't. The paintings were surprisingly tasteful, and in any other situation, he might've been impressed by her apparent skill in interior design.

But it wasn't any other situation, it was this one, and so Lucifer dutifully followed her into what appeared to be some sort of home-office. It had a desk and cabinets, like her real one, as well as a similar couch and chair set.

"This is for emergencies only," Linda said, placing the bat against the wall, "which I believe this is. But we're not going to make a habit out of this, okay? I have office hours for a reason." She put on her glasses, which had been on the table, and sat down in the chair.

"Okay," he agreed.

Lucifer didn't _want_  to have to do this again, to be so upset that he didn't have any other option. The lack of control was... reminiscent of the Rebellion, of why he started it. For free will. For Ariel.

He sat on the couch, then shifted to the side and pulled his legs up. This conversation was going to be hard, and the thought of _looking_  at her, of seeing her face—

It made Lucifer want to run as far away as he could get.

He would settle for lying down.

"So," she said. "Did you... recently discover her existence?"

"No."

"Oh," Linda said, stopped. He risked a glance over at her, and noticed that she looked unsure of what to do. Lucifer contemplated expanding, but... "Then— did her mother only just let you see her?"

"No."

"Lucifer," Linda chided. "You came here, remember? Give me something to work with."

"Ariel's dead," he said. Lucifer tried to suppress the way those words _hit_ him, before stopping himself. This was therapy. He was supposed to let himself feel it, probably, or... something like that. It seemed stupid, frankly, but—

He let the anguish roll over him, _into_ him, let the words hurt, let her _death_  hurt.

It was as painful as anything else had ever been. As bad as creating Ariel, as bad as losing her. As bad as Falling. Grief... was a strong emotion, a _deadly_ emotion. And he had put it off for _so_ _long_ that it had just— festered, like a disease, built itself bigger and bigger until he finally let the gates open, and it— crashed over him— like a tsunami, like any other natural disaster— though there was nothing _natural_ about this, to be clear— and—

Linda leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee, jarring him from his thoughts. "Breathe," she instructed, tone practiced, though he could detect a hint of panic. "In, out. In, out."

He followed the instructions, gasping in air like a dying man— Uriel had been a dying man— was Lucifer a dying man? Oh no, oh _no_ —

Why hadn't he killed himself? He knew he had a reason but he couldn't remember, couldn't focus, he wanted the blade, he wanted the _peace_ that _Uriel_  got, and why did Uriel get peace, anyway? He didn't deserve it, he didn't—

"Deeper breaths, Lucifer, c'mon, in, out." Without meaning to, Linda's nails dug into his skin, hard enough to bruise a human, maybe even hard enough to draw blood. For him, it just— grounded him. Brought him back to the moment.

He let his body relax, let the air flow in, out. Lucifer looked at Linda, then away, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Sorry," he said, quietly. "I didn't expect that to happen."

She gripped his knee harder, this time on purpose. He looked back at her. "You have nothing to apologize for," and she was staring him dead in the eyes, serious as ever, and Lucifer felt—

Seen.

Loved.

"I don't want to hurt you," Linda continued, "but, considering what just happened, I have to ask. How long ago did this happen? Yesterday? A week ago?"

"An eternity and a day ago," Lucifer said, same as he told Chloe. "Time in Heaven works different than time on Earth does. When she died— Cain hadn't killed Abel yet. That came later."

Linda looked... upset, a little. Lucifer understood, had seen the same expression on Dan's face, but she was his _therapist_ and he had always been honest with her. Even half-truths were half-lies and he would _not_  do that, not here, not with her.

He continued, "I didn't have _enough_ _time_  with her. A hundred years, that's _nothing_ compared to the millennia I deserved. I wanted— I needed _more_ — she was practically still a baby—"

"Lucifer, _enough_."

Lucifer turned to fully face her, shifting so he was sitting rather than lying. He... hadn't expected that, though judging from the horror on her face, she hadn't either.

Linda took a deep breath, released it, then made up her mind. "I can't do this anymore," she confessed. "I can't keep track of all these elaborate metaphors."

He frowned. This was hardly the appropriate time. "But it's not a metaphor, Doctor. You need to take me seriously. You need to believe what I'm saying. Otherwise, you'll never understand I'm a monster. A monster who deserves to be punished."

A monster who deserved to die.

"I believe you feel that way," she said, sighed. "And I want to understand. I truly do! But, Lucifer, you have to help me. I need you to be honest with me. Completely honest about who you are."

He kept thinking about the way Chloe had cut herself off, when she said _I didn't mean to imply that your father had anything to do with her_. The quiet way Dan admitted, _Some people are messed up, we see proof of that all the time_. The confidence with which Maze said, _If you think your family was involved, then they were_.

He kept thinking about the implications.

He kept thinking about the _truth_.

There were different versions of it, depending on the person, depending on what they believed or what they knew. But what Linda was asking for—

"Completely honest?" he echoed. "Are you sure?"

What she meant and what he meant were two very different things.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I'm sure. That's what all of these sessions — our entire relationship — is all about. Getting to know the real Lucifer. No more lies. No more metaphors."

"Very well," he said, and his face turned red.

Linda stared. And stared, and stared, and—

Lucifer let the red fade. "I know this is difficult for you," he said. Wasn't this proof, though? After everything he had told Linda, all the reassurances that he wasn't truly evil— here she was, afraid of him. "I need you to pull yourself together. Because I need— my _daughter_ might—"

"You're the Devil."

"Linda," said Lucifer, softly. "I want to die."

She didn't appear to have heard him, or if she had, she disregarded it in favor of freaking out. "It's three am, you're in my house, you're the Devil," said Linda, voice faint. "You're the _Devil_. It's all real."

He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to see the fear, the disgust, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her shaking hands. "Linda," he repeated, cautiously, like she was a caged animal he didn't want to spook. "Please—"

"I had _sex_ with the Devil. Oh my god— oh shit, can I even say that, or is it blasphemy? I'm an _atheist_! Am I going to Hell? Oh shit, oh shit— what the fuck— you were supposed to admit you weren't fucking _Satan_ , not _prove_  that you _are_ —"

Lucifer understood, to a degree, her reaction. He wasn't completely oblivious to how shocking the revelation was. It was as she said: she was an _atheist_. To Dan or Ella, he would be a validation, _vindication_ , proof that they were right. But to anyone else— to Chloe, to _Linda_ — he was changing their whole world view, and not necessarily in a good way.

But this was hardly the _right_ _time_ to be having a breakdown when it was _his_ turn to breakdown, when that was _why he was there_ , at three in the morning.

"You need to leave," she said, and that— hurt.

What was that he'd thought, about feeling seen? About being loved? Nobody could ever love the Devil. If his own _family_  refused, how could he expect Chloe to understand, or Dan, or _Linda_?

How could he expect _Ariel_?

She had only ever known him as Samael. Lucifer, The Devil, all of that came _later_ , came _after_. If she was alive, would she hate him too? Wouldn't she have to? If she hated God and Uriel, despised them with everything she had in her, she had to hate him too. He was just like them. He was a _monster_.

This was the proof that he had been waiting for.

Lucifer got up, ready to go. This was a mistake. This whole thing was a mistake. He needed— a way out, a way to end things, he needed—

Azrael's blade.

He needed the pain, then the nothing, then the _peace_ that the blade would bring him. He needed what Uriel got.

"Wait," said Linda, and her voice sounded... clear. He turned back around, and she was staring at him like the past few minutes hadn't happened. "Wait. Sit down. I can finish my breakdown later. This is more important. You're more important."

"You're scared of me," he said, and his voice _broke_.

"No," she denied. "No. I'm scared of dying. I'm scared of God. I'm scared of _Hell_. This is a lot to deal with, Lucifer, and I didn't expect it, but. I am not scared of _you_."

Lucifer didn't believe her. He _couldn't_. But he still sat back down, in front of her, and tried his very best to _breathe_.

"Can you do it again?" asked Linda. "Shift your face. I want to see it again, if you're willing."

He felt drained, emotionally, physically. He wanted to say no, but he didn't have the energy to follow through. Lucifer was just... so tired. (To die, to die, to die— that was the answer. It'd be so very, _very_  easy.)

His hair vanished and his skin melted away to reveal revolting, blistering flesh. The color of it matched his eyes: red, _blood_  red. He looked _disgusting_ , he looked—

"Wow," she whispered. Linda raised her voice to ensure he heard her, saying, "Everything makes so much sense now, knowing it's all true. And... I have questions. But that's not what's important right now. Let's go back to Ariel. You said she died an eternity and a day ago?"

Lucifer let the image fade, returning to his usual form. "I wasn't there," he said. How many people had he told this story to? What made him think that this time, that _Linda_ , would change anything? "I was doing something, for God. Some mission, I suppose, but I don't remember what. When I returned..." he closed his eyes, let his voice fade. He waited a second, two, then reopened his eyes. "Uriel made some joke. I don't remember what he said, specifically, but it was... cruel. Tasteless. That's how I found out she was dead. I... didn't believe him, at first. Even when the other angels chimed in with their condolences, I didn't believe that she was actually gone."

"But she was," said Linda, and she jotted something down on a pad of paper. He hadn't noticed her grab it, and wasn't sure when she had.

He nodded. "She was," confirmed Lucifer. "I asked for details. I asked to see her body. Fuck, Linda, she had been so _small_ —"

Linda looked intrigued. "You said you had a hundred years with her, but how would that translate to human years? When was she born?"

"I've been alive for approximately thirteen point eight billion years, in human time," Lucifer said. "The Big Bang was a literal bang. The sexy kind, though, in this case: less sexy, more gross, since it was between my parents. Ariel... she was born shortly after Cain and Abel were, so the late 3700s BC. I can't be more specific than that. I suppose it makes her... six thousand years old, more or less? Or it would have, had she survived. Instead, she died... a hundred or so years later, again by human standards."

"So she really was a hundred?"

"More like sixteen," he corrected. "Though she _lived_ for roughly a hundred human years, yes."

"If a hundred human years equal sixteen angel years, then thirteen _billion_  human years—"

"By that same logic, it would make me two billion years old, but again, that's not truly how it works. And— it's not the point. Of this. If you don't mind." Lucifer grimaced and looked away, wishing he was still lying down. His eyes were wet, and he didn't know how to deal with it, how to _stop_  it. "The only thing that matters here is that she was _young_. She was a kid. _My_  kid. And I wanted to see her body. I _needed_ to, to move on, to understand, to _grieve_."

"But you didn't get to," she guessed.

"Everyone refused. Michael, Gabriel, Amenadiel, the ones who liked her. All the ones who hated her, too, like Uriel, and— well, I asked a lot of angels. I don't remember who all of them were. _None_  of them would tell me _how_ she died," he looked back at her, upset. "I just wanted to know how."

"What happened next?" Linda asked.

"I was... in a daze, for awhile," he said. "Everything just _hurt_ and I didn't, couldn't, cope. And everyone avoided me, which made it easier. Or harder, I don't know. Then Uriel started strutting around like he was... important, now, like he suddenly mattered. And— Gabriel, he always looked upset. I was so miserable, so caught up in my own sorrow, that I didn't check in with him, didn't _care_.I always assumed it was just because he loved Ariel too, but—" Lucifer shook his head. "I don't know. I... noticed things but I didn't put meaning to them, because I was just so... devastated." 

"Then what?"

"Then God showed up. He told me He had a mission for me. I don't remember what it was for, what I was supposed to do, though... I had been the angel of dearth, back then. Someone, surely, would have ended up dead."

"I thought Azrael was the angel of death," Linda said. "Or is that something we got wrong?"

"She replaced me when I Fell," Lucifer said. "Anyway, I didn't have free will back then. None of us did. But my daughter had just _died_ , and so I... refused. For the first time ever, I said no," he smiled, faintly. "I did it for Ariel. In more way than one. Before her— before what happened, she liked to get in fights with Him. She had free will and wanted Him to give it to all of us too. So I channeled her, and... fought back. For her."

"What happened next?"

"He was angry. _Deeply_  angry," and his voice turned mocking, recalling what his mother had told him, "He wanted to destroy me, and my mother begged Him not to. She asked Him to send me to Hell instead. She did it because She _loved_ _me_ and _always_ _will_."

Linda sat forward, interested. "Those aren't your words."

"They're my mother's," he said. "It's what She told me. I don't know if I believe Her. But... regardless, He sent me to Hell. Told Michael to send me down, and he did. I think he — Michael — actually... said something, before he pushed me, but. I don't remember what."

Linda stared down at her notebook. "Just for clarification, what was the mission God sent you on, during the time Ariel died?"

Lucifer frowned. "I told you. I don't remember."

"Mhm. And... what was the joke Uriel said to you?" 

"Are you deaf? Linda, I _don't_ _remember_."

"Right. But, who are all the angels that hated Ariel that you asked for answers? What was the mission God _wanted_ to send you on, _after_ Ariel died? What did Michael say to you before you Fell?" Linda looked at him, carefully. "Lucifer, throughout that explanation, you said 'I don't remember' about five different things related to Ariel's death."

He stilled. "Because I..." Lucifer stopped. Because he _didn't_  remember.

Had he done the same thing with Dan, or Maze? Looking back, he thought maybe he had. But what did that _mean_?

Lucifer had a great memory. He knew that. Everything before Ariel, everything _after_ — he remembered it all with perfect clarity. And _Ariel_ , herself, he had never forgotten a single detail. But somehow—

These things were silly, stupid, _inconsequential_. They didn't _matter_.

So why— _how_ —

"This is proof," he realized. "Proof that it wasn't an accident. Proof that they were involved."

"In what?" asked Linda, alarmed.

"She's alive."

"What? Lucifer— no—"

"Why else wouldn't I be able to remember those specific things?" he questioned. He was _right_. He had to be right. "I must've figured it out— maybe one of the angels told me, maybe _Michael_ told me— and God didn't want me to know so He erased my memories. She's _alive_. She's somewhere on Earth."

Lucifer stood, grinning. Everything he had felt before— about Uriel's death, about how desperately he wanted his own— none of it mattered now. His lack of memories _proved_  she was alive.

"That's not the only possibility," cautioned Linda. "You need to sit back down. We need to talk this through."

"No, no, it's four in the morning, you need to go back to bed," he said, dismissive. Everything was fine now. She was _alive_. He just needed to find her. "I need to talk to Amenadiel. I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner. If all angels were in on it, or at least aware of it, then he has to have answers."

" _Lucifer_ —"

"Thanks for your help, doc," he said, "but I'm good now. Crisis averted! You're the best." Lucifer leaned forwards, kissed her cheek, then headed for the door.

He had a brother to find.

He had a _daughter_ to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is 4.1k! the next chapter might take awhile to be posted bc i'm struggling w it lmao
> 
> the dialogue between "lucifer, enough" and "very well" are straight from the canonical identity reveal, because...... i wanted it to be
> 
> to clarify: this is not confirmation that ariel is alive. but lucifer has a tendency to take part of what linda says and run with it, even when she meant something else. in this case, he's taking his missing memories as proof ariel is alive, even though 1) linda hadn't even known he'd been questioning her death yet and 2) it's just as likely that he realized they killed ariel & they got rid of his memories to stop him from retaliating.
> 
> i also feel obligated, due to the content of this chapter, to include a list of suicide hotlines for anyone who feels suicidal:  
> Argentina: +5402234930430  
> Australia: 131114  
> Austria: 017133374  
> Belgium: 106  
> Bosnia & Herzegovina: 080 05 03 05  
> Botswana: 3911270  
> Brazil: 188 for the CVV National Association  
> Canada: 5147234000 (Montreal); 18662773553 (outside Montreal)  
> Croatia: 014833888  
> Denmark: +4570201201  
> Egypt: 7621602  
> Estonia: 3726558088; in Russian 3726555688  
> Finland: 010 195 202  
> France: 0145394000  
> Germany: 08001810771  
> Holland: 09000767  
> Hong Kong: +852 2382 0000  
> Hungary: 116123  
> India: 8888817666  
> Ireland: +4408457909090  
> Italy: 800860022  
> Japan: +810352869090  
> Mexico: 5255102550  
> New Zealand: 0800543354  
> Norway: +4781533300  
> Philippines: 028969191  
> Poland: 5270000  
> Portugal: 21 854 07 40/8 . 96 898 21 50  
> Russia: 0078202577577  
> Spain: 914590050  
> South Africa: 0514445691  
> Sweden: 46317112400  
> Switzerland: 143  
> United Kingdom: 08457909090  
> USA: 18002738255  
> Veterans' Crisis Line: 1 800 273 8255/ text 838255
> 
> if you need help, please reach out. if not to a hotline, then to family, friends, or anyone else in your life that you feel you can trust. i promise it's not worth it. i love you.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at [laniemoriarty](https://laniemoriarty.tumblr.com)!


End file.
